STACK 

ANNEX 


THOUGHTS 


POEMS 


Pictures  in  the  Fire 

BY 
HILDA  L.  EVERETT 


"THOUGHTS 


POEMS 


Pictures  in  the  Fire 

BY/ 
HILDA  L.  EVERETT 


ELY: 

<£  W.  JEFFERSON, 
PRINTER  AND  PUBLISHER. 
22672 


PICTURES  IN  THE  FIRE. 

Christmas  Afternoon :— A  young  man  on  his  way  home  is  met  by  his  Grandfather 
while  the  other  members  of  the  family  are  about  their  farmyard  duties. 

JOISTS  of  pearly  softness  linger'd 

O'er  the  silent  stretch  of  fen, 
With  a  mute  caress, — a  message 
To  the  list'ning  hearts  of  men. 

Rutted  drovelands,  firm  and  crusted 

By  the  frost  from  day  to  day, 
Pasture-land  and  fallow  acr'age 

All  in  quiet  wonder  lay. 

Treach'rous  waterways,  ice-coated, 
Dumb  between  their  banks  of  reed, — 

Dykes  where  weed  and  bramble  mingled, 
Check'd  the  travelers'  hasty  lead. 

"Nay,  my  laddie,  keep  the  drove-way, 
Danger  lurks  across  'The  Cut,'  " 

And  the  old  eyes  twinkled  fondly, — 
"Travel  in  the  same  old  rut." 

"  Aye,  but  Grandsire  I  am  eager 

To  rejoin  the  family  throng, 
Oh  'twas  good  you  came  to  meet  me 

Else  the  way  had  seem'd  so  long." 

And  the  youth  in  budding  manhood 

Looked  into  the  kind  old  face, 
Linked  his  arm  in  courteous  fondness, 

Check'd  his  heedless,  headlong  pace. 

Everywhere  the  mist  hung  deeper, — 
Trees  and  landmarks  near  to  sight, — 

Lost  their  form  as  though  in  distance, 
Wraiths  within  the  mystic  light. 


"  Hark  !"  the  young  face  looked  expectant 
As  he  raised  a  warning  hand, 

"  Hark — there's  Jean  among  her  cattle 
Singing  to  them  as  they  stand. 

Teddy  too,  I  hear  his  whistle 
On  the  mead  beyond  the  drain, 

Hunting  eggs  among  the  grasses 
To  a  Christmas  time  refrain. 

Dad  will  be  among  his  horses 
Feeding,  grooming  them, — and  all, 

Little  Nan  will  be  his  helper,      . 
Will  they  hear  me  if  I  call  ? 

Half  a  mile  or  so,  no  further, 

Then  it  will  be  'Home,  Sweet  Home,' 
With  the  Mater,  Dad  and  kiddies, 

Home  again — no  more  to  roam." 


At  home  the  little  folk  are  eager  to  welcome  brother  Jack. 

A  GLOW  of  ruddy  brightness 
Streamed  from  the  casement  low, 
Where  'mong  the  downy  cushions 
A  child  danced  to  and  fro. 
For  long  the  wee  mite  struggled 
To  clean  the  misty  pane, 
But  dimpled,  chubby  fingers 
Had  rubbed  and  rubbed  in  vain. 

The  dancing  firelight  lingered 

Upon  the  curly  head, 

The  eyes  so  full  of  mischief, 

The  cheeks  so  rosy  red. 

A  moment  and  the  childie 

Cried  out  in  pure  delight, 

As,  from  the  mist,  the  trav'llers 

Came  into  nearer  sight. 


A  merry  whoop — a  scramble 
To  reach  the  wide-flung  door, 
All  heedless  of  remonstrance, — 
The  toys  upon  the  floor. 
The  childie  from  the  window, 
The  little  lads  from  play, 
The  shy  small  girlies  reading, 
To  '  Jacko'  found  their  way. 

He  caught  the  childie  to  him 
And  rode  her  shoulder  high, 
The  boys  and  girlies  round  him 
Forgetful  to  be  shy. 
And  in  the  firelight  standing 
With  Christmas  love  and  cheer, 
The  proud  fond  Mother  linger'd 
To  one  and  all  so  dear. 


Christmas  Evening,  and  the  whole  family  gather  round  the  fire. 

THE  quaint  low-ceilinged  homestead 

Breathed  comfort  everywhere, 
The  fragrant  understanding 

Of  love's  own  joy  to  share. 
Bright  holly  scaled  the  wainscot 

And  linked  the  oaken  beam, 
And  flow'rs  in  full  profusion 

Joined  in  the  Christmas  theme. 

The  lamps  had  long  been  lighted, 

The  window  curtains  drawn, 
The  fire  built  high  and  firmly 

Of  Yule  logs  newly  sawn. 
And  comfy  chairs  and  lounges 

And  humpys,  stools  and  all, 
Were  drawn  within  the  brightness, 

'Way  from  the  shadow'd  wall. 


And  one  and  all  they  gathered ; 

Lads, — lassies, — young  and  old, 
And  merry  chatter  held  them 

And  Christmas  tales  were  told, 
'Till  as  the  bairnies  tired 

And  nestled  drowsily, 
A  tender  quiet  touch'd  them 

And  each  sat  dreamily, — 

Lost  in  the  thoughts  of  Christmas, 

Its  beauty,  love  and  light, 
Its  hope  of  understanding, 

Of  fuller,  clearer  sight. 
The  Yule  logs  sparkled  freely, 

The  flames  leaped  high  and  high'r, 
And  each  in  dream-thought  followed 

The  '  Pictures  in  the  Fire.' 

PICTURES  FOR  JANUARY. 

The  Organist  and  his  little  Grand-daughter. 

From  'Springtime  Symphony.' 

ALL  night  long  the  snow  had  fallen, 

And  the  flakes  of  whiteness  lay 
Cuddled  into  one  another, 

Crisp  and  sparkling  on  the  way. 
Ev'ry  path  was  closely  hidden, 

Footprints  of  the  yesterday 
And  the  new  life  of  the  dawning, 

Cut  and  traced  its  onward  way. 
"Grandy,"  cried  a  gentle  maiden 

Turning  from  the  casement  wide 
"  Make  the  music  of  the  snow-drop 

That  the  snow  had  come  to  hide. 
Play  the  great  still  silence  Grandy, 

And  the  bigness  of  it  all, 
Play  the  snowflake,  oh  so  softly 

That  you  cannot  hear  it  fall. 


Life. 

From  '  In  the  Firelight.' 

LIFE  seemed  strange,  a  wide,  deep  question, 

Big  strong  men  bent  low  in  tears, 
Hard  unlovely  faces  soften'd 

Smiles  out-peep'd  thro'  cloudy  fears. 
Gladness — sadness  mingled  softly, 

Pain  and  pleasure, — darkness, — light, 
Kindness — sweetness, — thought  unlovely, — 

Wrong  seem'd  ever  touch'd  by  right. 

A  Mother  and  her  Boy. 

From  'Fide  et  Amore.' 

THE  glad  bright  sunshine  of  the  Winter  day 

Flooded  the  path,  between 
The  wide  flung  open  door, — the  granite  wall 

That  girt  the  homestead  green. 
Upon  the  threshold,  ling'ring  in  the  light 

To  fearsome  musings  prone, 
A  mother  stood  to  watch  her  boy  go  forth, 

Into  the  world — alone. 

Ideals. 

From  'Golden  Brightness.' 

AS  sunlit  mountain  peaks,  they  rise  into  the  light, 
Strong,  firm  and  ever  unafraid  of  mystery  and  blight. 
Worthy  the  dawn  that  breaks  in  silence  all  around, 
And  wakes  the  life  that  dormant  lies,  the  loveliness 

unfound. 


PICTURES  FOR  FEBRUARY. 

Go  Deep  Enough. 

From  '  Out  of  Doors.' 

LOOK  'neath  the  pucker  and  the  frown, 

The  hasty  word, — the  slight  that  brings  the  castle 

down,- 
The  cold  reserve, — the  silence  that  we  fear  to  drown. 


Look  'neath  the  laughing  repartee, 

The  jest,  the  smile, — the  lines  that  break  so  pitif 'lly 

The  smooth  fair  brow,  the  words  of  thanks  breathed 

haltingly. 

Little  Peter. 

From  '  Fide  et  Amore.' 

UP  and  down  the  wide  oak  staircase, 

Clinging  to  the  polished  rails, 
Dancing  out  into  the  kitchen 

Dabbling  'mong  the  noisy  pails, — 
Peeping  at  the  fragrant  cookies, 

Little  knowing  work  from  play, 
'  Peterkins'  was  always  welcome 

Never  told  to  "  run  away." 

The  Coming  of  Spring. 

From  'Springtime.' 

FRAGRANCE— wonder,— new  life  stirreth, 

Grass  grows  softly  green, 
Harrow'd  earth,  deep — rich — and  fragrant 

Throbs  with  power  unseen. 

Golden  Hours. 

From  '  Springtime.' 

ROUND  the  festive  board  we  gather'd, 

Then  around  the  cosy  fire, 
Chatting  gaily, — deeply — brightly, 

Thoughts  that  tender  love  inspire. 
Tea-cups  call'd  us,  lamps  were  lighted, 

Curtains  all  were  closely  drawn, 
Laughter — gladness — echo'd  brightly, 

Softly, — sweetly,  gently  borne. 


PICTURES  FOR  MARCH. 

Everyone's  Darling. 

From  '  Winter  Sunshine." 

JUST  a  blue-eyed  little  darling, — 

How  she  laughs  with  roguish  glee, 
When  some  mischief  she  is  planning, 

Coyly  waiting, — 'just  to  see.' 
Fair  soft  locks  just  loosely  ribbon'd, 

Blue  to  match  those  open  eyes, 
Wide  and  large  when  gravely  watching, 

Held  by  some  new  glad  surprise. 
Happy  temper'd--sweet,  aye  lovely, 

Hear  her  lisp  her  little  prayer, 
Call  "Goodnight"  to  all  around  her, 

Then  to  sleep  without  a  care. 

Washing  Day. 

From  'A  Spring  Idyll.' 

THE  little  one  had  tired  and  Nancy  lass 

Had  borne  him  way  to  sleep, 

And  fondling  long  the  sweet  unconscious  brow 

Her  thoughts  flow'd  wide  and  deep 

Then  light  of  step  she  left  the  sleeping  babe, — 

For  why  'twas  'washing  day.' — 

A  pile  of  fragrant  linen  stood,  that  she 

Could  fold  and  bear  away. 

The  freshness  of  the  Springtime  air  it  held, 

A  glint  of  sunny  light, 

A  sweet  suggestion  of  the  soft  blue  sky. 

That  gave  the  work  delight. 

The  basket  was  refill'd  again,  again 

And  Nancy  with  a  song 

Upon  her  lips,  and  smile  within  her  eye, 

Work'd  happily  and  long. 


The  Traveller's  Welcome. 

From  '  Fide  et  Amore.' 

"  SAY,  are  you  all  at  home  ? " 
The  house  bell  sounded  thro'  the  silent  hall, 

And  willing  footsteps  rang, 
In  loving  answer  to  the  plaintive  call. 

Strong  kindly  hands  outstretched 
With  ready  welcome  and  with  hearty  cheer, 

They  eased  the  heavy  coat, 
And  drew  him  to  the  fire,  and  gently  near, — 

Into  the  heart  of  home, 
Where  in  the  shaded  light  the  wee  babe  slept 

They  linked  his  hand, — and  watched,- 
And  to  his  lonely  heart  new  gladness  crept. 


PICTURES   FOR  APRIL. 

Spring. 

From  '  Springtime  Symphony." 

A  ND  child  "Spring"  danced  into  her  regal  own  : 

With  golden  locks  and  liquid  soft  blue  eyes, 
Her  happy  presence  thrill'd  the  silver'd  air 
With  sweet  surprise. 

The  Organist  and  the  Blackbird. 

From  'Springtime  Symphony.' 

THE  organist  with  white  uncovered  head 

Paused  by  the  knotted  five-barred  gate,  his  hand 

As  e'er  with  gentle  touch,  upon  the  frame 

That  countless  storms  and  suns  had  braved  to  stand. 

A  blackbird  unafraid  his  gentle  eye, 

Lingered  upon  the  budding  hawthorn  tree, 

And  reached  his  music-loving  soul 

With  strains  of  joy  and  hope, — full  melody. 


10 


Night-time  in  Hospital. 

From  '  Winter  Sunshine.' 

THE  silent  wards,  breathe  peaceful  calm  and  rest, 

Sleep  lingers  close,  health's  tonic  sweet  and  best. 

From  some  far  home,  a  tender  loving  thought 

Is  softly  breathed,  and  here  by  love  is  caught. 

*  *       * 

A  door  is  ope'd,  the  silent  midnight  air 
Takes  up  the  sound,  though  soft  with  mindful  care. 
'Tis  Nurse  who  comes  on  duty  through  the  night, 
From  bed  to  bed  she  moves  'neath  soft  dim  light. 
A  drink  perchance  for  they  who  thirst,  and  wake, 

A  pillow  turned,  for  heads  that  tire  and  ache. 

*  *       * 

The  silence  grows,  her  footsteps  die  away, 
And  all  is  still, — -Night  waits  the  coming  Day. 

A  Twilight  Fantasy. 

From  'Spring  Light.' 

"TWILIGHT"  with  new  graces  linger'd, 
O'er  the  soft  sweet  scented  lawn, 

As  though  breathing  some  fond  message, 
To  await  her  sister  "Dawn." 


PICTURES   FOR   MAY. 

The  Maytime  Sky. 

From  '  Springtime.' 

THE  tend'rest  blue  that  Heaven  doth  know,- 

Not  liquid  heights 
Of  some  all-radiant  summer  day, 
But  soft  and  fair, — the  joy  of  May, 

Mist-woven  lights. 


II 


The  Little  Wanderer. 

From  'Beauty  and  Fragrance.' 

A  TODDLING  mite  fresh  from  his  bath, 

'Scaped  from  his  Mummy's  care, 

Had  gain'd  the  sunny  road  alone, 

His  fearless  arts  to  dare. 

A  strong  kind  voice  with  cheery  word, 

O'er  took  the  little  feet, 

And  bribed  the  little  wand'rer  home, 

With  cake  or  tempting  sweet. 

Chivalry. 

From  'Out  of  Doors." 

BENT  with  age, — and  weary  struggling 

With  the  unexpected  shower, 
"Granny"  shelter'd  'neath  the  ruins 

Of  the  ancient  Abbey  Tower. 
But  her  breath  came  slow  and  fitful, 

For  the  path  was  rough  and  steep, 
Oft  she  falter'd  trying  vainly, 

'Neath  the  inner  wall  to  keep. 
But  two  laddies,  treasure  hunting 

By  the  deep  enchanted  well, 
Saw  her  struggle,  and  her  danger, 

Dreaded  lest  she  tripp'd  and  fell. 
Quick  as  thought  they  hasten'd  to  her 

Greeted  her  with  quaint  respect, 
Guided, — bore  her  up  the  incline, — 

One  of  England's  own  elect. 


12 


PICTURES  FOR  JUNE. 

A  Country  Road  in  June. 

From  '  Rural  Scenes." 

ON  the  hillside — off  the  roadway, 

Here  and  there  a  farm  doth  stand, 
Oft  with  ancient  barns  and  timber, 

That  would  joy  the  artist's  hand. 
Flow'rets  cluster  in  the  gardens, 

Fragrance  fills  the  sunny  air, 
Roses  climb  in  sweet  profusion, 

Making  cot  and  homesteads  fair. 
A  Little  Child  at  Play. 

From  '  Harvest  Days.' 

THRO'  the  quaint  deep  open  window, 
Where  sweet  jasmine  held  its  sway, 

Came  the  voice,  the  happy  laughter 
Of  a  little  child  at  play. 

A  Lassie  and  her  Lad. 

From  '  Autumn  Days." 

ALONG  the  country  roadway, 

Where  dust  lay  thick  and  white, 
A  herd  of  cattle, — slowly, 

Moved  into  nearer  sight. 
The  winsome  lass  attending, 

Caressed  with  tender  voice 
Each  grave-eyed  wistful  milker, 

And  led  to  grassland  choice. 
The  cattle  mildly  grazing, — 

The  five-barred  gate  made  fast, 
The  lass — her  eyes  ashading, 

Wide  longing  glances  cast. 
A  soft  low  whistle  sounded, — 

That  stirred  a  deep  rose-blush, 
An  answ'ring  "Coo-ee," — sweetly, 

A  deep  expectant  hush. 


13 


Moonlight. 

From  'The  Message  of  Spring.' 

THE  distant  Church — the  village  wrapt  in  sleep, 

Rest  'neath  its  charm, 
The  lonely  cot,  'way  on  the  grassy  steep, 

The  wayside  farm — 

The  silver'd  lane, — the  softly  lighted  bower, 
Responsive,  catch  the  ever  magic  power. 


PICTURES   FOR  JULY. 

Dawn. 

From  '  Twelve  Short  Poems.' 

ONE  tiny  gleam  of  daylight,  peep'd  softly — shyly — out, 

And  night  still  hung  her  garments,  the  quiet  night  about. 

How  tenderly  it  waken'd, — like  to  a  sleeping  child 

Roused  from  its  downy  pillows  and  'way  from  sleep 

beguiled. 
Then  Night  her  heavy  mantle  drew  round  her  weary 

form, 
And  with  caressing  kindness,  bowed  to  the  blushing 

Dawn. 
Pale  sunbeams  softly  scatter'd  their  brightness  over 

all, 

And  Day  with  radiant  gladness  answered  to  Dawn's 

sweet  call. 

The  Village  Street  on  a  Summer  Morn. 

From  '  Beauty  and  Fragrance.' 

THE  farmyard  gates  swung  back  and  fore, 

Carts  rumbled  on  the  stone, 
Man  greeted  man  with  cheery  word, 

None  passed  the  way  alone. 


14 


A  herd  of  kine  in  pasturage  far 

Thro'-out  the  soft  warm  night, 
Came  slowly  thro'  the  village  street 

Within  the  new  clear  light. 
With  gaysome  step  the  boys  and  girls 

'Way  to  the  farmhouse  ran, 
Bright  with  the  morning,  fresh  and  glad, 

High  swinging  jug  or  can. 

Kindness. 

From  '  Wayside  Pictures." 

OH  joy  in  life's  kindness — as  grass  by  the  way, 

Or  shade  of  the  leafage  above, 
Kindness  grown  greater  than  justice  and  right, — 

Just  the  little  bit  more, — that's  Love. 

Nancy's  Ideal. 

From  'A  Spring  Idyll.' 

THE  lass  was  ling'ring  by  the  open  door 

Lost  in  unspoken  thought, 
The  sunset  sky  in  all  its  golden  light, 

Her  fond  far  gaze  had  caught. 

*       *       * 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  softly  breathed,  '*  I  want  to  help 

The  great  big  world  to  live,— 
To  understand  the  real, — the  true, — the  glad, — 

And  of  its  highest  give." 


PICTURES   FOR  AUGUST. 

The  New  Day. 

From  '  The  Message  of  Spring.' 

A  LOVELY  pearl  of  creamy  depths,  a  gem  all-pure — 
Un-made  by  man, — untouched — all-real,  [all-true, 

With  power  to  pain, — to  joy, — to  heal, 
A  sacred  gift  and  true. 


15 


A  Young  Apollo. 

From  '  Out  of  Doors.' 

A  WOODCRAFT  laddie  of  some  tender  years, 
A  Tracker  of  St.  Catherine's  famous  Clan, 
Linger'd  anear  the  homestead  garden  gate, 

'E're  for  his  morning  dip  he  thither  ran. 

*       *       » 

Tingling  and  glowing, — every  pulse  alert, 

Bright  pearl-drops  sparkling  'mong  his  raven  hair, 

As  young  Apollo  deeming  life  a  joy, 

He  faced  the  day  with  pride  to  do, — to  dare. 

Summertime. 

From  '  Beauty  and  Fragrance." 

THE  honey-bees  are  busy  in  the  flowers, 
Their  droning  hangs  upon  the  scented  air, 
And  with  a  sense  of  drowsy  restfulness 
We  watch  the  worker  buzzing  here  and  there. 
The  dusted  road,  bone-coloured  in  the  sun 
Like  corded  ribbon,  winds  between  the  fields, 
And  bears  upon  its  crown,  the  Summer  joy, 
The  burden  that  the  fertile  fenland  yields. 
The  noon-day  heat  hangs  purple  on  the  fen, 
While  suns  ride  high,  majestical  and  grand, — 
Oh  joy  the  Summer-time  of  rose-bright  dreams, 
When  luscious  days  abloom  on  every  hand. 

Twilight  o'er  the  Fen. 

From  '  Harvest  Days.' 

THE  quiet  fen 
Within  the  dreamy  light,  lay  wrapt  in  charm, 

Her  tranquil  life 
Breathed  deep  of  peace  from  every  cot  and  farm. 


16 


PICTURES  FOR  SEPTEMBER. 

The  Cloud-Child. 

From  'Springtime.' 

A  BILL'WY  mass  of  snowy  clouds, 

Stretch'd  'cross  a  span  of  sky, 
So  soft  and  white,  one  dreamed  of  snow, 

Piled  lightly,  pure  and  high, — 
Where  little  folk  of  tender  years, 

A-frolic, — climb  and  play, 
And  search  the  mystic  snow-built  caves, 

'Midst  laughter  bright  and  gay. 
'Way  on  the  further  edge, — one  stray'd, — 

A  wee  maid  softly  clad, 
As  though  a  tender  Thought-Child, — born 

To  make  the  world  more  glad. 
One  little  foot,  outstretch'd,  to  touch 

The  depths  of  soft  sweet  blue, 
She  smiled  a  bright  illumined  smile, — 

All  life  was  glad  and  new. 

In  the  Cornfield. 

From  'Harvest  Days." 

THE  whit'ning  oats  in  glitt'ring  golden  light, 

The  barley  grain, 
With  soften'd  bearded  growth  as  woven  silk, 

Passed  on  the  sweet  refrain. 
Backward  and  fore,  a  heaving  sea  of  light, 

Pulsing  and  strong, 
A  thousand  thoughts, — a  myriad  hopes  upcaught, 

And  link'd  in  dauntless  song. 
With  child's  all  simple  trust,  a  little  lass 

Had  strayed  to  hear, 
And  silent  'mong  the  whisp'ring  grain  she  stood, 

With  'tentive  list'ning  ear. 

17 


A  white  hair'd  veteran,  bronzed  with  former  suns, 

Paused  in  the  way 
And  link'd  the  little  hand  with  his, — and  breathed 

"There  is  no  other  way." 

The  Young  Musician. 

From  'Golden  Melody." 

WITHIN  the  soften'd  fire-light  glow 

In  poise  of  easy  grace, 

The  young  musician  stood,  and  raised 

His  fiddle  into  place. 
In  softness, — sweetness, — shyness  born 
E'en  from  the  depths  of  power 
The  loveliest  strain  of  music  broke 

The  silence  of  the  hour. 
A  ling'ring  pleading,  softly  borne, 
A  yearning,  deep  hope-thought, 
'Way  upward  thro'  the  courts  of  space  — 

In  throbbing  vastness  caught. 


PICTURES   FOR  OCTOBER. 

Friendship. 

From  'Our  Treasures.' 

E'EN  tho*  dark  shades  should  hover  near  and  fall, — 
It  lives  with  beauty  still — nor  fades, 

But  lights  the  darkness  there. 

Or  in  the  sunlight,  should  its  beauty  shine 
'Neath  skies  of  tender  blue, 

Its  life  yet  gleams, — all-pure — divine, — 

In  sweet  glad  sympathy. 

Autumn  Tints. 

From  'Beauty  and  Fragrance." 

THE  amber  sunlight  softly  fill'd  the  day, 
Cool  quiet  hours  sped  lightly,  tenderly, — 
Along  the  way. 

18 


The  fires  of  Autumn  cast  a  ruddy  glow 

Thro'  thinning  trees, — o'er  open  fenland  tracks, 

Lands  high  and  low. 

The  hedgerow  gay  with  myriad  gems  of  light, 
Gleam'd  thro'  the  short'ning  days,  and  thro'  the  clear 

Autumnal  night. 

In  Fond  Memory. 

(Mrs.  C.  M.  Bearcock.) 

THE  mellow  Autumn  sunshine  streamed 

Around  her  as  she  stood, 
Watching  the  sunset,  work  was  o'er 

And  evening  time  seemed  good. 
Her  boys  pressed  round  her,  fondly  near, — 

Chums  ever — work  or  play, 
Her  silent  look,  her  gentlest  word 

Had  always  won  the  day. 
Their  sweethearts  came, — their  little  ones 

Climbed  gaily  on  her  knee, 
She  smiling  caught  her  husband's  glance — 

Oh  life  was  good  to  be. — 
Comrades  in  perfect  harmony 

They'd  pressed  from  year  to  year, 
And  friends  around  in  tender  love 

Joy'd  in  her  life, — her  cheer. 

The  Charm  of  the  Fen. 

From  'A  Spring  Idyll." 

THE  little  window  in  the  thatch, 

Again  was  open  wide, 
The  curtains,  lightly  draped  around, 

Again  were  held  aside. 
'Twas  Nancy  lass  aling'ring  long, 

Held  by  the  old  fen  charm, 
With  dark-eyed  tender  radiance, 

At  one  with  night's  deep  calm. 


19 


PICTURES  FOR   NOVEMBER. 

Autumn  Mists. 

From  'Autumn  Days.' 

THE  Autumn  day  breathed  sadness, 

The  rain  drawn  sky  bent  low 
And  wept  as  tho'  in  sorrow, 

With  teardrops  soft  and  slow. 
A  breeze  with  tearful  murmur 

Stirred  as  a  half-breathed  sigh, 
A  ling'ring  heartfelt  yearning, — 

A  wistful,  stifled  cry. 
A  grey,  soft  mist  fast  gather'd, 

As  tho'  a  host  of  fears 
Enwrapping  silent  hedgerow, 

Bright  in  their  haze  of  tears. 
The  trees,  as  veiled  in  sorrow, 

In  depths  of  anxious  thought, 
Scarce  murmur'd,  lest  a  sob  half  breathed, 

Be  softly,  firmly  caught. 

The  Little  Child  and  the  Tramp. 

From  'Out  of  Doors.' 

LOOK  'neath  the  ragged  coat,  ill-worn, 
Of  him  who  tramps  our  highways,  abject  and  forlorn, 
We  do  not  see  the  struggles  that  his  soul  have  torn. 

A  little  child  with  wise  wide  stare, 
So  unafraid  the  shabby  coat,  the  grizzled  hair, — 
Looked  in  his  face  and  nestled  in  his  unused  care. 

Country  Homesteads. 

From  'Autumn  Days.' 

'WAY  from  tiny  well  thatched  home-steads, 
Circled  soft  blue  curls  of  smoke, — 
Round  the  cosy  hearth-stones,  gathered 

Happy  country  folk. 

20 


Childhood's  Days. 

From  '  Fide  et  Amore.' 

WHEN  the  lamps  at  last  are  lighted, 

And  the  stars  peep'd  one  by  one, 
From  their  bed  of  velvet  darkness, 

And  the  day's  work  all  was  done, — 
'Peterkins'  so  tired  and  happy 

Climbed  on  Mummy's  waiting  knee, 
With  sweet  childhood's  understanding 

Of  that  loving  sympathy. 


PICTURES  FOR   DECEMBER. 

The  Young  Mother. 

From  '  Fide  et  Amore.' 

UNCONSCIOUS  to  the  world 
A  girlish  form  on  tireless  knee  bent  low, 

Beside  her  sleeping  babe, 
Within  the  warming  firelight's  fitful  glow. 

She  turned,  as  on  her  right, 
The  curtained  door  was  open'd  from  without, 

And  baby's  Daddy  came  ;  — 
He  link'd  the  hand  she  eagerly  stretched  out. 

Christmastime. 

From  'Our  Treasures.' 

LIKE  a  gem  of  deep — full  beauty, 

Happy  Christmas  Day, 
Depths  of  light  that  radiates  gladness 

All  along  the  way. 
May  its  lightness  gently  guide  you, 

Of  its  beauty  give, 
That  each  moment  radiates  Christmas 

Love  and  joy  that  live. 

21 


Their  Boy. 

From  'Fide  et  Amore.' 

THE  festive  table  laid  for  three, 

Told  of  expected  joy, 
Mother  and  Father  breathed  to  each, 

"  He'll  come  to-night — our  boy." 
The  outer  gate  swung  on  its  hinge, 

The  gravel  bore  his  tread, — 
And  Peter  grasped  his  father's  hand 

And  joined  the  way  he  led. 
Upright  and  strong,  and  true,  and  clean, 

With  ideals  pure  and  fine, 
He  clasped  his  mother  fondly  near, 

"It's  alright  Mother  mine." 

Home  for  Christmas. 

From  '  Gathered  Threads.' 

WITH  hurrying  feet, 

A  winsome  lass  with  laughing  eye, 
Sped  'cross  the  dark  and  silent  fen, 
Beneath  the  velvet,  night-deep  sky. 

A  stream  of  light, — 

The  cottage  door  was  open'd  wide, 
And  brothers,  sisters,  cluster'd  round 
And  bore  her  joyously  inside. 

The  fire  flamed  high, 

The  little  kettle  sang  with  glee, 

And  table  spread  with  snow-white  cloth, 

Told  of  a  long  belated  tea. 

"  Home,  Mother  mine ! 

Home,  Daddy  dear! — There  is  no  place 
Just  like  to  home  at  Christmastime," — 
And  Daddy  touch'd  the  radiant  face. 


22 


A  LOVING  MEMORY. 

(Mr.  W.  E.  Hudson.) 

THE  long  low-ceilinged  room, — with  beams 

Of  knotted,  rugged  oak,  upcaught 

The  magic  of  the  firelight  glow, 

And  breathed  a  beauty  inly  wrought. 

"The  days  pull  in," — the  fine  old  man 

Low  in  his  fireside  cushioned  chair, 

Watched  for  a  space  the  dark'ning  sky, 

"The  days  pull  in,"  he  spoke  with  care. 

His  daughter  from  the  window  turned 

With  opened  letters  in  her  hold, — 

And  news  of  loved  ones  far  away 

She  read  aloud,  or  clearly  told. 

The  lamps  were  lighted,  curtains  drawn, 

Another  log  heaped  on  the  fire 

The  snow-white  cloth  was  laid  for  tea 

The  kettle  raised  a  little  higher. 

"  Now  for  a  '  sup '  of  tea  and  toast," 

The  words  were  gaily,  brightly  said 

And  with  a  fond  and  genial  smile, 

The  old  man  watched  the  crisping  bread. 

The  lamp-light  with  caressing  touch, 

Fell  on  the  mass  of  snow-white  hair 

That  crowned  the  healthful  happy  face 

Which  told  of  love  and  v/atchful  care. 

The  door-latch  from  without  was  raised, — 

A  neighbour  on  the  threshold  stood, 

And  smiles  of  welcome  from  the  twain, 

Held  greeting  that  was  warm  and  good. 

The  pride  of  hospitality 

Shone  on  the  kind  old  happy  face, 

And  father, — daughter  joy'd,  that  home, 

Should  prove  to  all,  a  gladsome  place. 


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